


Heeded Advice

by ambaila



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot, one shot based on the long night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:00:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22236739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambaila/pseuds/ambaila
Summary: Everything set her on edge. Curt and mean. Anxious and stressed. Winter had come and the Dead was coming.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Heeded Advice

What Brienne learned a long time ago was if she disagreed with something, she must remain silent. So here she was, brooding and stomping around Winterfell because it wasn’t her place to comment. It didn’t help that Jaime was following her around, gossiping about something. Or maybe it was someone. Then, in that case, she _really_ didn’t want to know.

They had been in the armory when she heard a snippet of conversation. She was checking the metal that had recently been forged for the soldiers and stumbled into the conversation. The wood wall wasn’t much of a sound barrier and she wasn’t actively trying to listen, she just heard. All of it. Even the chastising bit where a man of Winterfell told his girl to sit.

It wasn’t what he said but how he said if that prompted Brienne to pace the grounds in a stomp. It was how he said it. The man sounded demeaning and _insufferable._

“Brienne,” Jaime called putting. “Why are we here.”

Her chambers she realized suddenly, was the 'here' Jaime was referring to. She had led them to her chambers, and she was still fuming. She wanted nothing to do with the outside out of fear that she would drive Oathkeeper through someone. She, really, didn’t want Jaime to be there but he was. And despite the rage she felt, he did not deserve her anger.

It wasn’t Jaime that was being insufferable, although he did well at being that. No, he was kinder now. Understanding. Perhaps even a little scared. They all were.

“You can leave. Make sure Podrick eats a meal.”

She was pacing her chambers like a caged animal. She needed to pace or else she would snap. She’d say unkind things, things that would go against her oaths and the only person who would endure her wrath would be Jaime. Again, undeserving of it. A lot would have to make her angry at him.

“Wench, sit.”

It had been so long since he called her Wench. It was enough to get her to stop in her tracks. A look was leveled at him and she watched as his face visibly changed.

This would have been the time she would have pulled her sword on him. Let the blade rest against his neck, needing little pressure to cut him. She would have leveled a dangerous look at him. A shot to the stomach would have leveled him. Anything would have done him in.

Instead she wore a humored look. A glint in her eye of pure amusement shined against the blue. A smirk curled into her lips. Letting her shoulders dropped she went to Jaime. A good smack to the arm was what he expected, evident when he winced at the sudden movement of her sitting next to him on the bed.

They had gotten closer. It was odd and organic. Their partnership evident after she rallied behind him and saved his life. He owed her his life. That was the least he could do.

“You are insufferable.” Brienne muttered, looking at him. “You know that?”

“I do.” Jaime returned. “But thank you for the reminder.”

A punch to his arm came then, getting him to laugh. Many nights they had spent on the road, spilling secrets. Even now, in Winterfell, secrets were shared, and she kept them all.

“We should go,” Jaime offered. “Before they wonder where we are.”

“Let them talk,” Brienne said. “We could all be dead tomorrow.”

“The dead are gone.”

A stretch of silence unfolded over them. The faint sounds of men yelling, swords clashing, and the rest of the regular sounds of Winterfell filled the void of conversation.

“Do you want to tell me what had you huffing around?” Jaime asked sincerely.

“No.”

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with young Maira and her soldier would it?”

She hadn’t put names to the conversation, but Brienne liked Maira. She was a girl, ten and six maybe, who was of Winterfell. Parents had been dead for years and she just quietly made her way.

“How do you know that?”

“I was coming down to find you and I saw them. Seconds later you come storming out of the armory.”

“Did they see me?”

“No,” Jaime said. “I did though.”

Brienne dropped her head and rubbed her forehead. She was stressed and anxious at every given moment. She was always expecting someone to shout her name because Sansa was in trouble. She was expecting someone to yell her name because the dead were approaching.

Brienne’s head snapped up and her gaze fell on Jaime. Jaime, the man who came to help defend the living and fight against the dead. Jaime Lannister, the golden lion who was anything _but_ irritable. With a suddenly wash of surprise, Brienne realized _she_ was the irritable one.

Stress and anxiety, driving her to a state that made her constantly short. And curt. Mean to those who didn’t know her.

“Brienne?”

The horn sounded for a meal. She had jumped. So had Jaime. There were no shouts of anything but quick feet and someone yelling about food. Relief washed over her.

“You should rest when dinner is done.”

“I’ll rest when – “she was going to snap at him.

The rest of her response was on her tongue. She simply nodded.

What Brienne learned a long time ago was if good advice was given, the advice must be taken. In a fraction of some kind.

Brienne had rested after the meal. She had slept for a solid set of hours. She woke up dreary and less combative, but still bone ache tired. What made it a bit better was Jaime, on the field with the rest of the left flank rolling up the mats.

“Come on Commander,” Jaime smirked. “Your men await your tale.”

Yes, long ago, Brienne learned to keep silent at the things she disagreed with. But she learned also, less is more. So her speech was short and to the point. Fight for the living.

It was a simple smile from the men that settled her.

The horn blew later that night; the dead had come.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a product of a 3AM idea that refused to leave me alone. 
> 
> Let me know what you think.


End file.
